


Gunshot

by LadyAJ_13



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Action, Bickering, Competent Q, M/M, Mission Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: “Bond,” he says, relieved, springing to his feet and securing the drive in a zipped pocket. “All done, let’s go. Give me the gun.”“I think as the field agent,” James responds, hustling them both back out into the corridor and blatantly trying to shield Q with his bulk, “I’ll hold on to it.”
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 22
Kudos: 186





	Gunshot

The mission had gone to hell before Q even got there. He’s still not sure what tipped the Russian oligarch off, but the ensuing gunfight has at least kept the bad guys busy in the corridors and hotel lobby, allowing him to follow his part of the plan and sneak into the suite where Verenich keeps his tech. He slips a flash drive into the laptop port and lets his fingers fly over the keys. The encryption is complex, that’s for sure, hidden behind layers upon layers of misdirection, but it’s also too rote, too neat. There’s no artistry; it’ll be like unravelling a jumper as soon as finds and cuts the right -

“Q?” 

His earpiece crackles to life. It’s R, running point on this one given Q is making a rare appearance in the field. Her voice is tight, and it makes his fingers pause a microsecond before dancing again, pulling and unravelling another layer. 

“Nearly there.”

“004 is down. No vital signs. 007 still in action, making his way to you for extraction.”

He swallows. “Copy.” 

004 down. Agent down. His gut clenches at the thought that it could have been James, that so quickly it could have been the end of everything between them. Then it clenches again because - Sam was a good agent. She actually took direction on occasion. She never returned her equipment, but always owned up to it with an apology coffee from the good coffee shop down the road, and it’s surprising how far a caffeine boost will take a quartermaster when he’s on hour eighteen of his shift and facing down extra paperwork for lost or abandoned gadgets.

He shakes his head, refocuses, and - there. That’s what he wants. He copies the files, pulls the drive and flicks the power button just as the door cracks; a shard of light splintering across the carpet. He drops silently, hidden in shadows behind the desk. The laptop is quiet, screen dark, but if they come over and check it will be warm -

“Q?” James hisses.

“Bond,” he says, relieved, springing to his feet again and securing the drive in a zipped pocket. “All done, let’s go. Give me the gun.”

“I think as the field agent,” James responds, hustling them both back out into the corridor and blatantly trying to shield Q with his bulk, “I’ll hold on to it.”

If he thought spending his days off in the agent’s bed would make said agent more amenable to following his orders… well, good job he never thought that. “Are you forgetting my marksmanship scores beat yours-”

“On the  _ range.  _ In controlled conditions. This-” James breaks off, spinning them backwards and covering Q as bullets burst across the wall ahead of them, plaster and paint dust spiralling through the air. “R.”

“Go back,” she says crisply. “Staircase on your right, two floors down, that level is clear.”

They’re through before she’s finished talking, the heavy metal door of the stairwell cutting off the shouting and footsteps. They slip down two flights, and James opens the door. He sticks his head out, checking both ways, then obnoxiously draws back and gestures for Q to go through with a little head nod - like they’re at some kind of fancy garden party. “As I was saying,” he continues, as Q rolls his eyes, “this is not controlled conditions.”

“Straight ahead, fire exit. Take the fire escape down to the street.”

“I’m more proficient with that gun than you’ll ever be, and if it comes down to a fight-” he very pointedly does  _ not  _ look at Bond, because his jacket is unbuttoned and his shirt is tighter than Q would ever be able to pull off, and the fact is that this is the unbiased, non-horny observation of a department head at MI6, absolutely nothing else - “you’re better than me at killing without a weapon.”

“If you just want something to wave at people and scare them off,” James says nonchalantly, as if they’re chatting aimlessly rather than running full pelt down a fancy hotel corridor and slamming through the fire exit, “I picked up 004’s gun.”

Miraculously, the fire escape is empty and the street clear and quiet. 

“All enemy combatants still on level five, you’re clear to go, 007, Q.”

“You picked up Sam’s gun.” Q could kiss him. 

“I know how precious you are about your equipment.”

He could - he  _ could  _ kiss James. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline, perhaps it’s the heady silence of the street after the scatter of gunfire and Russian expletives, perhaps it’s just James acting halfway responsibly for once, but he grabs him by the ears and pulls him in.

It’s like time stops. He’s never done this out in the open before; theirs is a relationship of late nights and locked doors, not street corner kisses with colleagues on an open line. 

Wait. Colleagues on an -

“007!” shouts R, and Q winces at the reverberation in his earpiece. He’ll have to look into that, somehow modulate the sound for when mission runners get a bit overzealous - “Romance on your own time please, for now, street level then head west. There’s a car with keys waiting two streets over. Black sedan.”

James narrows his eyes at Q for getting him in trouble - they must be in a camera blackspot, nothing but their comms for R to make assumptions based on, and of course she’d think it was Bond getting his blood up off the back of a firefight. Q shrugs. He’s not about to apologise, and he’s certainly not about to own up to it. James gave himself that reputation, now he can live with it.

“Here.” 004’s gun is shoved into his hand and - oh. 004. Who’s just lying somewhere back there, her warm eyes blank and lifeless, blood all over her white shirt -

“Later,” James says gruffly, giving him a light shove towards the ladder. He stows the gun for the climb, and when his shoes hit wet pavement takes it out again. The lights glow green, recognising his palmprint, and a layer of the panic bubbling in his chest settles.

“Walk slowly,” Q advises, linking his arm with James’ and making sure to obscure the gun with the fall of his jacket. Things will be much easier from here on out if they just disappear, and running is the opposite of subtle. They can just be two people, out for a stroll, and a small part of him is greedy for the contact, for the warmth of James still alive and here, at his side.

James stows his own gun, although he’s also shooting Q an impressed look, glancing pointedly at the half-hidden green lights of 004’s Walther.

“You’re not special, Bond,” he teases. “I program all the guns to respond to their individual double 0… and me.”

“You.”

“I am your quartermaster. They’re  _ my  _ guns.”

James shakes his head with a fond smile. “‘Course they are.”

The car is just where R said it would be, and he lets James take the driver’s seat without argument, rooting through the glove box instead for the spare ammunition. James has more recently passed his advanced driving refresher course, and is, he has to admit, the better evasive driver should it come to it. 

Besides, if they run into trouble Q is armed - he reloads first 004’s gun, then James’ - and rather partial to the video game-like action of providing covering fire for someone who can handle an engine. He curls his palm back around the Walther, finger hovering next to the trigger as the lights glow green once more.

And he’s the better shot.

**Author's Note:**

> An example of the author trying to bullshit expertise in many subjects, from computer hacking to firearms to the actual content of canon because seriously, it’s been literal years since I watched a Bond film...


End file.
